In Which Afternoon Tea Is Served
by TravelMarvel
Summary: Continuation to another story. But it can be read on its own as well. Howell serves afternoon tea to his guests. Conversations etc. A bit of a wikipedia article on welsh cakes is in there ENJOY. R&R if you wish.
1. Chapter 1

In Which Afternoon Tea Is Served

The benches were cluttered with bowls and covered in flour, as was Morgan, who was eating dough off the kitchen floor.

His father meanwhile, was knelt beside the kitchen grate in silent prayer. He watched closely as Calcifer flickered underneath a griddle of welsh cakes.

"Just make sure they don't burn, Cal," he said, running a flour-encrusted hand through his dishevelled hair

Calcifer rolled his eyes, "They _won't_ I promise. And quit staring like that. Go and start cleaning up before Sophie gets home."

"Ah yes," Howell swivelled around and was a bit shocked by how much chaos had accumulated, " _Morgan,_ that's disgusting," he picked his boy up and put him in the highchair, giving him a bowl to lick instead.

Howell wiped down the bench and started the washing up, and then the kettle finished boiling.

"I think they're ready now too," said Calcifer cooling his flame.

Howell peered over, "they look good!" he exclaimed, rushing to grab a plate to put them on, "I can't believe they turned out so well. Just like my mum used to make them…"

"So this is a family recipe?" asked Calcifer. Howell casually sent magic over his shoulder that finished the washing and drying while he piled up the cakes.

"Not really. It's a Wales thing…" said Howell, trailing off as he began to set the table. He never shared much private information to anyone about his former life in Wales. Even while holding his heart Calcifer hadn't figured out a particular reason why. He guessed it was just Howell's sheer laziness of explaining all the concepts of alternate worlds to people.

"There we go," said Howell proudly, putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork. The platter of welsh cakes sat next to a steeping teapot. Each place was set with a mix-matched cup and saucer, there was an assortment of jams and a pitcher of cream, and the tablecloth was white and crisp. A vase of brightly coloured daisies set the whole table off beautifully. Morgan had finished with the bowl and was now reaching for the jam.

Howell shifted the jar out of his reach and gave him a cooled welsh cake instead. "Finished with this are you Morgan?" said Howell taking the bowl to the sink; "I'll wash it up for you."

It was excellent timing for Howell to be looking so productive (yet also having the kitchen so immaculate) when Sophie came in.

She did not hide her surprise, letting out a gasp when she saw the table ( _and_ the state of cleanliness of the house), "Howell, it looks lovely!" The rest of the party were also very impressed and full of complements. Not that Howell heard any of them, for as soon as they had all entered, he had swept by only to give his wife a quick kiss before rushing off to the bathroom. The pipes screeched loudly and Calcifer turned into his most demonic-looking bright blue element to heat them.

"For the second time today! I am a slave to his vanity!" he roared.

"Of course, he _must_ fix his hair," Sophie grumbled drily. She was secretly touched that at least her kiss had come first in her husband's necessities.

Sophie picked Morgan up and held him. She had hardly seen him today. Was she a bad mother to have really enjoyed this little holiday? She _had_ missed him though. She kissed his floury cheeks, "had a good day with your dad, darling?"

Calcifer stirred in the hearth, "you bet he has! Especially when dad lets him frisk around as a feline, eat excessive amounts of sweets and generally make mischief."

Howell's voice came thundering over the sounds of rushing water from the bathroom, " _I did not!_ Cariad, don't listen to him – I enforced a lot of discipline today!"

"Huh, always so defensive," Calcifer cackled, "you'd think he'd be used to people ruining his reputation by pointing out his faults."

Sophie went over to the bathroom and rapped on the door, "are you almost finished in there? The food's going cold."

"Lets just start without him," said Michael, "I know full well how long he takes in there." A few of the others nodded and turned to Sophie for her approval.

"Just wait a moment more," she said to them before banging on the bathroom door again, "I never knew you were this good at playing the host, Howell. While you're sprucing yourself up, I'll go invite my mother, Mrs Fairfax – and your sister. They need to experience this hospitality as well," Sophie smirked.

The pipes screeched again as the rushing water stopped, "I'll be right out."

Howell's hair (which looked as though he had put a copper rinse through it) was still damp and he had changed into a resplendent dark mauve dinner jacket, "apologies for my appearance everyone," he said, pulling out a chair for his wife, inferring Ben and Michael to do the same.

"Oh yes darling, you look utterly repugnant," Sophie whispered to him. Howell flushed even though he detected her sarcasm.

The tea was poured, the welsh cakes distributed and conversation began.

"Pass that blueberry jam please Michael," said Martha. As she slathered it on she began to discuss the baking with Howell. "These are really delicious, so you call them welsh cakes? And they're from that place through the black portal Michael told me about?"

"Yeah, they're from Wales," said Howell simply, taking a sip of tea. The chatter died away abruptly. He looked up from his teacup and found that all eyes were on him. He leaned over to his wife, "what's the matter?" he asked.

"I suspect they are curious," said Sophie.

"Are _you_ curious?" Unlike the others, Howell had taken Sophie to Wales on numerous occasions to visit his family.

"Of course I am. I'm always intrigued by it. It _is_ another world after all. Maybe you could give them some brief history on welsh cakes?"

Howell turned to his fellow welshman. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"No, you go ahead."

Howell sighed but conceded to give a short lecture. It took him back to his university days when he used to give speeches about the theories of alternate worlds. It was much the same, except this was the humble subject of welsh cakes.

"Wales," he began, "is historically known for agriculture and mining. It was once the largest coal-producing country in my world. Welsh cakes were traditionally made by the lady of the household as a treat to serve at afternoon tea, and were also given to children with their school lunches. Since they are durable, filling and delicious, welsh cakes also became a favored treat of the coal miner husbands of many a Welsh housewife. Indeed they are the perfect size to be slipped into a coat pocket, these sweet reminders of home were often the only bright spots in a miners otherwise dark and dreary day spent toiling 'down the mine'. Over time as my world's societies modernized, the need and patience for making foods by hand became scarce. Welsh hats and coal shovels were traded in long ago for business suits and computer keyboards. Thus, such traditions as welsh cakes have almost all but faded away these days, but that makes them an even more cherished part of our culture that we pass down. In conclusion, sweet but not overly so, welsh cakes are an example of a unique and traditional food that reflects the resourceful, wholesome, and practical nature of the Welsh people."

Ben smiled at him, both welshmen were feeling patriotic pride for their country. None of the Ingarians said anything. Howell did not exactly expect a standing ovation, but he did want some reaction to his recount other than silence.

"So in other words, its a flat scone," came the cackling voice from the hearth.

"Yes," said Howell feeling annoyed,"thank you Calcifer."

"What's a computer?" someone asked.

Howell poured himself and Sophie more tea. "Its your turn to explain Sullivan."


	2. David Bowie Tribute RIP

"There's a Fire Demon Waiting in the Sky

"Are you _sure_ it's not magic."

Sophie picked up one of the silver discs and moved it into the light. A spectrum of pinks and greens sparkled into her eyes.

"It's not magic, it's technology. It's called a CD or compact disc…" Howell watched his girlfriend squinting through the blinding colours. "Anyway love, I won't go into the details. In short, it's a way of playing music."

"Music from Wales?" she said sceptically.

"Yeah… You just put it in the player like so, and press play."

 _Didn't know what time it was and the lights were low_  
 _I leaned back on my radio_  
 _Some cat was layin' down some rock 'n' roll 'lotta soul,_  
 _he said_

 ** _NOTES_**

I found this really old unfinished fanfic where I had Howell introducing Sophie to David Bowie (since Howell is from the 80's etc it was very fitting. And I do believe Howell would of been influenced and a big fan of Bowie's eccentric and elegant fashions and styles.) Idk. I'll just put it up as a sort of tribute on chapters to my other HMC work. I did want to finish it but never got the time. Now Bowie. Bowie has been an integral part of my life. He gave me _magic_. I had been waiting for the release of Blackstar since last year with bated breath. And the songs as they came out one by one were brilliant. As were the clips. Bowie is an artist. And so caring to his fans with this final gift I am so thankful. So thankful I was there on the way to experience magic and the big reveal (like a 'prestige'?). Of the realisation of what Lazarus was. Watching it the day before his birthday. I was transfixed but confused by the imagery. And in his passing. The realisation and understanding that entered my very gut and soul. I have never felt that way. Never experienced art like that. Truly amazing. I knew Bowie was amazing. But I did not know he was THIS amazing. Turning his death into a transcendent artwork. RIP David. You were and will continue to be a true Hero and Legend to many.


End file.
